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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189436">The Dust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkiddd/pseuds/moonkiddd'>moonkiddd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Complete, F/M, Fanfiction, George Weasley - Freeform, George Weasley x OC - Freeform, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Imagine, fred weasley - Freeform, george weasley imagine, george weasley one shot, harry potter fanfiction, non explicit smut, oliver phelps - Freeform, ron weasley - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:28:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkiddd/pseuds/moonkiddd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman who really, really loves George Weasley.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Weasley x Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Dust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a non explicit smut thing I wrote about (Oliver Phelps) George Weasley one time, around 4am, when I was having a lot of feelings about life, love and shit we think about in the deep of the night.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When we spent the night together, and we stayed up making love, the sun would hit at the right moment around 5.03am. That’s when the sun rose in summer.</p>
<p>That’s when the dust could be seen flying around the air, dancing just on top of the skin of his naked shoulder, that showed some of the pink trails my nails left in the heat of the moment.</p>
<p>I bet they still burn a tiny bit.</p>
<p>He was moaning, as a roll of sweat dripped from his eyebrow down his temple, and the sound mixed with our skins meeting, and my rapid breathing, rougher but enerving with love.</p>
<p>I loved watching him moan.</p>
<p>And I knew he loved watching me as well.</p>
<p>We weren’t just fucking. We weren’t looking to show off our bed skills, without trying to actually have a good time and maybe even reach an orgasm.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>We were rediscovering each other’s bodies.</p>
<p>George’s tall frame packed so many things with it, I think I never get to see it all.</p>
<p>6’3 of broad shoulders that I loved to cross my arms around while he guides himself into me, that I dig my fingers into while he looks for my lips as we both settle.</p>
<p>And his lips, oh, they taste like the beer he was drinking earlier, and a bitter trace that came from him kissing my bare, covered in sweat skin when he was over me.</p>
<p>A stifled moan erupted from me every time I got down to his eye level, while his hands clasped around my hips.</p>
<p>I loved being so close to him.</p>
<p>When he insists on sitting down when I’m riding him and he mumbles that he loves how my chest feels against him, making me giggle slightly.</p>
<p>But I love even more pushing him down, and my stomach does flips inside me at the sight of his very nice, marked chest covered in sweat, while his arms do everything in their power to at least keep his palms against me.</p>
<p>Sometimes he keeps them in me, sometimes he’s so overwhelmed with pleasure and love, he has to cover his face as he grunts and my name slips like honey off of his tongue.</p>
<p>The only dim light we had made his body look almost bronze, even though he was as pale as our best friend, who’s irish as hell, and practically glows in the dark.</p>
<p>My hands would drag down his body, until they met my favorite part of it: his hips.</p>
<p>He found it weird that it was my favorite part, but it was. The curve that mixed it all together. His thick, usually cold thighs started there. They would meet his curvy, very well filled bottom, that never failed to make me smile, and lastly, his legs.</p>
<p>George has legs that would go on for days, and I love dragging my hands through them.</p>
<p>“My love, oh my—Merlin!”</p>
<p>My love</p>
<p>My favorite nickname.</p>
<p>When he can’t hold himself any longer, when he is a mess of moans, grunting, heavy breathing and sweat, when his chest heaves up and down, George holds himself in his elbows, and let’s me watch him come.</p>
<p>Sometimes he just cries out, twitching a bit as his red hair is spiking out in different directions.</p>
<p>Sometimes he embraces me as his legs give out underneath me.</p>
<p>Sometimes he wants to scream and let it all out and it’s like a roaring thunderstorm.</p>
<p>And sometimes he comes up, mumbling very drunk I love you’s to my lips. The one he meets with tremble and love and even vulnerability.</p>
<p>A man of his age, who rarely ever shows vulnerability, didn’t mind me watching him as tears fell out of his dark brown eyes after he reached the high.</p>
<p>At first, he didn’t even dare. But I told him he could and when he finally did, he had told me afterwards that he didn’t feel weak, as he expected to.</p>
<p>He felt very much fulfilled, and in love.</p>
<p>Because he understood he wasn’t crying per se. He was releasing himself, and sometimes with weeks of stress upon himself.</p>
<p>Most of the time, it was him, showing his true self to the only woman he felt he could do it with, and it was the feeling of the overwhelming love I feel for you he would say.</p>
<p>So in the mornings, while he snored slightly, and the dust danced around his fair and gorgeous nakedness, I stared at him.</p>
<p>Sometimes the blanket would be a mess and he would be completely uncovered. That was my favorite one.</p>
<p>His skin glowing under the morning sun, when the dust just barely dared to fly above his bareness. And all I did was run my fingers through his messy hair, and admire him completely.</p>
<p>And maybe, plant a kiss or two in his arms.</p>
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